


before you start your day

by chromatic_indifference



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Based on a Twenty One Pilots Song, Depression, Gen, Insomnia, Nightmares, One Shot, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Very small reference to rape, first fic, kind of, tony stark to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromatic_indifference/pseuds/chromatic_indifference
Summary: sleep doesn't come easythen it doesn't come at all...or where Peter Parker loses himself in the battle for his mind





	before you start your day

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by twenty one pilots -- before you start your day. very first fic here on the interwebs. trynna dig my way out of my comfort zone by posting some work. here goes nothing.

His alarm never woke him up in the mornings anymore. Not the one on his bedside table, anyway.  
First, it was the nightmares. Somebody would die, someone he failed to save. They would be stabbed, shot, or jump off a building, while he was too late, helpless. Useless. They would look him in the eyes, pleading, until all the light faded from their own. Then, he would wake up, barely breathing, barely surviving. He’d gently wipe the tears from his cheeks and lie still until his alarm sounded a few hours later.  
Then, it was the anxiety. Even in his sleep, his senses would be on high alert. Every scream, every cry, every bump in the night would wake him up, sending him immediately to the window, still dizzy with sleep, and search the street below for any signs of trouble. He would listen for another cry for help, but rarely did any come. Sometimes, he didn’t know if the screams were even real, or if his brain was creating them out of fear that someone was in need. Either way, he could never go back to sleep.  
In the end, he just couldn’t sleep anymore. He resulted to trying to exhaust himself during patrol, not getting back to the apartment until around 3am, hoping that he would get a peaceful night. It almost never happened. When he would collapse in his bed, his thoughts would wind themselves around his mind and squeeze until he was forced to punch something, or scale a building, or scratch his skin to the point it was red and bleeding. His thoughts and his dreams were so similar, he could barely tell the difference between asleep and awake.   
People would ask him if he was okay. May, Tony, Ned, Karen. He always said he was just tired. But no one understand the extent. He was tired. He was exhausted. Every step was painful. He didn’t want to be awake anymore. He wanted everything to stop.   
But nothing ever stopped. His assignments were piling up. His grades were slipping. There were criminals to be caught and people to be saved. Food was forced down his throat and smiles were forced on his face. He had to keep going, keep moving.  
It was destroying him.  
And everyone saw it.

There was one day he just wouldn’t get up. His alarm set off normally for a Thursday, but he didn’t turn it off. He didn’t even flinch when the sound pierced the previously quiet room. May worked the night shift and wasn’t home until around 10am, so she couldn’t wake him up or call for breakfast to get him out of bed.  
He spent those few hours until she got home just staring. The alarm turned off automatically after half an hour of being ignored. He got a few texts, but he didn’t move to check who it was. He barely even noticed the notification.   
Something broke in his brain that morning. Something was missing. Something that made his head work. His mid barely churned. His thoughts stopped. His entire system shut down. Every minute felt like forever. Every hour felt like nothing.  
He remembered seeing May leaning over him. He remembered her mouth moving and her hand on his forehead, but he couldn’t process her words. He remembered feeling a tear hit his cheek, but it wasn’t his own. He remembered a frantic phone call. He remembered seeing Tony and his own arms falling as he was carried off the bed. That was the last thing he remembered.

His nightmares gradually turned into dreams. The women about to be raped was set free. The child torn from her parents was rescued and brought to safety. Spider-Man didn’t fail anymore. Tony looked at him with pride. May was happy again. Ned was crying from laughter. Peter Parker didn’t fail either.  
Waking up wasn’t a tragedy this time.  
The first thing he felt was a hand in his own. May’s hand. Soft, warm, small. The room was dim. The curtains were closed, but daylight streamed through the cracks. It was almost silent, except for distant footsteps and the soft whine of the electricity in the walls. He wasn’t in his room.  
“Good morning, Peter.” May whispered. She sniffed back her growing tears and gently squeezed his arm.  
He studied her face. Worry decorated her pressed lips and forehead. Her eyes were rimmed red. She looked sad. “Are you okay?” He asked.  
She gave him a small smile. “I’m okay, honey.”  
He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. “I don’t think I’m okay, May.”  
“That’s why we’re here.”


End file.
